


Liaising with the Frenemy

by afrakaday



Series: Liaising With the Frenemy [1]
Category: The Closer
Genre: Desk Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrakaday/pseuds/afrakaday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raydor reaches out to Fritz.  He reaches back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liaising with the Frenemy

Fritz Howard prided himself in having eyes only for his wife. It had been difficult enough to succeed in getting her to marry him, and he had never wanted to do anything to jeopardize their relationship. After years of friendship and being attracted to her, he thought that marriage would finally bring them the closeness he craved.

But Brenda had been growing even more distant than usual, and he was finding his once-inexhaustible patience had run thin with her as a result of several things. Foremost was her obstinate refusal to address or even acknowledge his desire to start a family. Brenda wouldn't even have an honest talk with him about it, always finding a way to change the subject or dismiss his attempts to start the conversation. He knew now that it was almost certainly too late, and resented that he bore the burden of what might have been on his own shoulders alone. Her overblown reaction to Kitty's untimely passing only highlighted her emotional stuntedness. Brenda also failed to follow through with her promise to make time for them to spend together at home, always blowing him off for a crime scene and spending all hours at the office. Brenda was a great cop, he had always admired that about her, but he had underestimated his ability to deal with always coming second to her job.

Brenda's willful blindness toward the civil suit filed by Turrell Baylor's family was an increasingly pressing problem that no longer affected just her. It was so obvious to him that her antagonism toward Captain Raydor was counterproductive, but Brenda petulantly insisted on feeling victimized by the FID Captain and refusing to acknowledge the seriousness of the suit. Worse was her reluctance to hire an attorney to protect her interests; Brenda was so unable to accept the possibility of being hung out to dry by Pope and the LAPD that her judgment was clouded. He suspected that Brenda resisted the idea of retaining independent counsel in large part because Raydor had recommended it.

Fritz personally thought the FID Captain not only had Brenda's interests at heart, unlike Pope who was only looking out for himself, but had given her pretty good advice. Given Brenda's stubborn refusal to take it, he was unsurprised when Raydor called him to see if he would meet with her.

"That's fine, Captain. I assume you want to discuss Brenda and the Baylor case?" he asked.

She hummed affirmatively. "Are you free later this afternoon? Could you come to my office?"

Fritz agreed and disconnected the call, Captain Raydor's lilting voice echoing around in his head. He looked at his watch; had a few hours until he needed to head over to the Police Administration Building. He called Brenda to see if she was free to meet him for a late lunch, but got her voicemail. He didn't leave a message. With a sigh, he returned to the stack of paperwork on his desk.

* * *

Fritz rapped assertively on Raydor's office door. He'd never been to Internal Affairs' part of the new building, though from what Fritz had observed lately, Raydor seemed to be more or less working out of a cubicle in the Major Crimes murder room.

Raydor opened the door with a friendly smile, gestured for him to come in, and closed the door behind him. After a moment's hesitation, she drew the blinds.

"Agent Howard," she drawled. "Good afternoon."

"Captain Raydor," he replied formally, nodding at her. Raydor leaned against the front of her desk, her skirt suit displaying her shapely legs to their best advantage. Idly, Fritz wondered what it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around his waist, then immediately chastised himself for the errant erotic thought. Sure, he'd thought the FID Captain was attractive since he first met her, but he rarely found himself having explicit thoughts about anyone. Particularly when the subject was directly in front of him.

He took a seat in one of the chairs facing her desk and looked up at her attentively.

"As you accurately surmised, I'm concerned about Brenda's attitude toward my audit and investigation," Raydor began, taking her glasses off and clasping them in her hand. "The LAPD is facing a lot of exposure on this case. It looks as if the City Attorney is inclined to settle on behalf of the City of Los Angeles and the LAPD, meaning that Brenda will have to defend the suit insofar as it is brought against her in her individual capacity. I don't think she appreciates that fact.

"It is essential that the LAPD minimize damage to its reputation. The case would easily be sensationalized by the media if it goes before a jury, and Brenda will become the poster child for deliberate indifference and callous disregard toward the rights of police detainees.” Raydor stopped talking and licked her lips contemplatively. “I don't agree with it, I think she was faced with an impossible situation, but she needs to accept that she and the LAPD are in hot water with this."

Fritz furrowed his brow. "I understand, Captain. What do you want me to do?"

Raydor took a step closer to where he sat. "First, I would like for you to call me Sharon. While this meeting is necessitated by my official duties, I appreciate that it is a somewhat unorthodox approach I am taking by liaising with you." She paused, pursing her lips, then eased back against the edge of her desk. “Though certainly within regulations.”

Fritz nodded his understanding. "Hey, liaising is what I do," he said easily. “And please call me Fritz.”

Raydor quirked the smallest of smiles, probably reliving an auditory memory of his wife calling him “Fritzi” in front of the entire LAPD, he thought ruefully. Her eyes glinted playfully for a moment before her professional facade returned. She set her eyeglasses down on a stack of files on her desk and crossed her legs, causing her short skirt to ride up. Fritz resisted the urge to loosen his tie.

"What I need for you to do, _Fritz_ , is impress upon your wife that she _must_ hire an attorney. I don't care what it takes to get her there, but if you can help force her to pull her head out of the sand about this, that would solve the biggest of our problems, which is that right now, no one, except maybe you and me, is concerned about Brenda's individual exposure." She gazed at him with her clear green eyes, and, finding him receptive, continued. "I have an attorney in mind, someone very experienced in doing this type of civil rights defense work. His name is Gavin Baker." She unbuttoned her suit jacket and rummaged around in the breast pocket of her button-down, making an unintelligible sound of satisfaction when she found what she was looking for. She handed him the card, which was still warm with the heat from her body.

 _This card was just on top of her breast,_ thought Fritz, his eyes skimming over the card in his hand to surreptitiously take in the sight of Raydor's ample chest straining against her shirt.

"You can call Gavin first, or convince Brenda to make the call; offer to go see him together, I don't care," she continued. "Just get in touch with him. We are way behind the ball compared to plaintiff's counsel, who, by the way, still knows more about what happened than I do." She released a frustrated sigh.

"I got the sense that Brenda was not happy about your investigation," he offered, his tone sympathetic.

Raydor nodded. "Between you and me, I was not happy either," she confided. "Pope insisted that I continue, but refused to tell Brenda that the order came from him after Chief Delk passed away. It put me in a difficult position."

"I'm sure you're used to that, though, being in Internal Affairs," Fritz said, thinking, _I'd like to do you in a difficult position._ He mentally slapped himself. Why was he so attracted to Raydor? He loved Brenda! Pig-headed, junk-food-loving, single-minded Brenda!

Humming thoughtfully, Raydor gave a careless shrug. "With Brenda, particularly, though, it was difficult to have to be the bad guy again after I thought we'd made progress toward being able to work together effectively. Be friends, even," she trailed off before shaking her head sadly.

"Brenda doesn't have any friends," Fritz said, unwittingly wanting to cheer up the pretty brunette with the pouty lips. Backpedaling, he thought of his wife, and amended, "Except, you know, her team."

Sharon snorted at that. "Oh, I'm well aware of the closeness of the Major Crimes squad. Brenda successfully got them to obstruct my investigation at every turn. What should have taken me three days took three weeks, between trying to track them down and teasing answers to even the most simple questions out of them."

Fritz stood up so that they were closer to eye level. “I know she is difficult. I’m sorry she’s making it so hard for you to do your job.”

“Are you?” she breathed, sliding from her perch on the edge of her desk.

 _Sorry, or hard?_ his mind wondered vaguely as blood rushed to his groin. Fritz was lost in her fathomless green eyes. She was taller than his wife and wearing heels just as high as those Brenda favored, and he found her as easy to look at as she'd been to talk to. Something about her, probably the fact that she’d actively sought him out and taken an interest in what he was saying, made him feel connected to her in a way that he hadn’t felt with Brenda Leigh for far too long. He took another step closer, leaning in until she looked away. The charged air crackled between them, interfering with his brain activity and allowing for him to make a rash, even crazy, decision in that moment. He took the lawyer’s card she’d handed him and tucked it into his wallet, pulling out one of his own business cards and placing that into her breast pocket, his movements slow and deliberate. She leaned into his touch for several thundering heartbeats before pulling back.

“I apologize, Agent Howard,” she said softly, nervously putting her hands in her skirt pockets before looking over his shoulder at the closed door. Fritz followed her gaze. “That’s all. Really, call Gavin, he’s very good--”

She stopped speaking as Fritz walked to her office door, turned the deadbolt, and after considering for a moment, flipped off the lights, leaving the room dimly lit only by light streaming in through the tiny spaces between the vertical blinds.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, allowing himself to openly look her up and down in the relative darkness. “Unless you’re about to break out that rule book of yours and tell me I have to leave.”

A pained look crossed her face at his gentle jibe before she spoke in sultry low tones. “I’m pretty sure this is more against the rules for _you_ than it is for me,” she countered, meeting him halfway between desk and door.

“Obstruction, evasion, the attention span of a gnat except when it comes to solving a homicide?” he said. “Doesn’t end at home.” He placed his hands experimentally at the sides of her waist; she’d shrugged out of her suit jacket completely and left it on top of her desk. “Anyone waiting at home for you, Sharon? You’re not involved with anyone?”

She shook her head, sending her long hair swinging over her shoulders. “Separated for a long time, two kids who are both away at college.”

He traced his thumbs up from her waist, brushing them against the sides of her breasts. “Brenda told me recently she thought maybe you and Pope had a thing going on.”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “Please,” she huffed. “I’m not _her_.”

“I know,” he replied, sliding one of his hands behind her head and bringing his lips to hers. He was tentative, gentle; what if he’d read her wrong? But from the way she was moving into him, against him, he knew he hadn’t. They might be making a mistake, or several for that matter, but discerning their mutual attraction wasn’t one of them.

Sharon would be a vocal lover, he quickly deduced, though her moans posed little threat of exposing their clandestine activity when he so effectively swallowed them into his own mouth. He shuffled them slowly back to her desk, pinning Sharon back into the same spot from which she’d presided over their meeting. The thought of how quickly things had turned from formal to heated excited him.

She was running his hands down his back, taking her time reaching and eventually cupping his ass. Pulling him closer against her hips, she muttered into his mouth between kisses. “Take off your jacket, Fritz.”

He let the offending garment slide off his shoulders and onto the chair behind him as she suckled his neck, nipping at the tendons and running her tongue down to his collarbone. He reached for the hem of her blouse and pulled it out of the waistband of her skirt, sliding his hands underneath the material and tracing the same path up her flanks his hands had taken moments before. Her skin was soft, the feel of her somehow different from what he might have expected of the iron-clad Captain. He wanted to see her. He trailed his hands back down to the hem and started unbuttoning her shirt, starting with the bottom button.

Apparently inspired, she started doing the same to him, insinuating her thigh between his legs and against his growing erection as she yanked his shirt free and made short work of the buttons. They finished their respective tasks nearly simultaneously and each took responsibility for pulling their own shirtsleeves off, leaving her grinning in her soft pink satin bra at him in his undershirt.

“So lovely,” he said, spanning her waist with his large hands and tracing sweeping paths with his thumbs.

A flush crept across her cheeks and down to the tops of her breasts as she smiled and leaned back against the desk, away from him. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she countered, letting her legs fall apart as she admired his un-suited physique with obvious approval.

At her stance and come-hither look, the basest part of his brain took over and commanded his hands to start unfastening his belt and pants, the movements nearly involuntary as he eyed her with a predatory hunger. He stepped into the space between her legs and kissed her, his tongue invading her mouth while he pushed her skirt up over her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his and braced herself against him, lifting up her hips enough that she could push the skirt fully out of the way around her waist, as well as slide her panties down and over her hips. Fritz stepped back slightly so that he could take care of pulling them down off her legs for her and tossed them onto the desk next to her glasses.

“Don’t forget about those later,” he warned seriously, stepping back into the cradle of her thighs. He threaded his fingers through her hair. “This is crazy, you know.”

She nodded, just barely panting through swollen parted lips. “I know.” Nipping at his lower lip, she added, “Surprisingly, I don’t care.” She smiled and shimmied closer to him, hooking her fingers over his open waistband and pulling him against her, leaving no question as to her intentions.

“I wonder why that is,” he mused before leaning her back on her desk and lowering his mouth to hers.

Sharon reached down to stroke him; his cock was straining against the front of his boxers, and she was determined in freeing him from the confining material. She shoved his pants down over his hips and took him in hand.

“Does it really matter?” she answered. “Call it overcome by events.”

“Or just...frustrated,” he suggested, sliding his thumb through her slick folds and circling her clit. His hand kept moving as his mouth left her lips, trailing down her neck, and finally to her breasts. She gasped when his teeth teased her nipple through the fabric of her bra, and she tightened her grip on his cock, pumping him firmly.

"The bra needs to go," she said, straining to keep the whimper out of her voice at the delightful attention he was lavishing on her breasts, his face buried between them.

He helped her back up to a sitting position and wrapped his hands around her, easily reaching for and unclasping her bra. She wriggled out of it and immediately reached for the hem of his undershirt, pulling it over his head and carelessly tossing it over to join his jacket on the chair.

She stood up, still wearing her heels, and daintily stepped out of her skirt. She wrapped her arms around his neck and ground her hips against his, capturing his cock between her thighs and thrusting lightly, back and forth. "Last chance to call off the op, Agent Howard," she whispered before latching onto his earlobe and sucking.

A low growl caught in the back of his throat. He hitched her left leg up and wrapped it around his hip. She balanced on the edge of her desk, bracing herself with one hand and guiding him to her entrance with the other.

"I want you, Sharon," he said clearly, right before he thrust into her.

She hummed against his lips and tilted her hips back, causing a change in angle that elicited moans from both of them.

“Oh, yes,” she said, breathless. “Like that.” The edge of her desk was digging into the back of her thighs as she strained to stay balanced on the one pump that was still on the floor; the extra height the shoe afforded her was the only thing making this position possible. The other heel, the one attached to the foot currently wrapped around his hip, she was pretty sure was dimpling the fleshy part of his ass, but he didn’t seem concerned in the least. _That might leave a mark_ , she thought, reaching around behind him with her right arm to slip off her left shoe.

That action brought them closer, his cock reaching even deeper inside her as the shoe fell to the ground. They surged together in sensation, speeding ahead like when the turbo injectors kicked in on a Crown Vic’s V8 engine at the height of a chase, the adrenaline rushing like the moment a battering ram took out the front door of a house full of perps.

Finding that holding her left ankle with her right hand actually gave her a bit more leverage and helped her balance, she experienced a small silent moment of gratitude to the yoga instructor she’d been working with for the past few years for making this moment possible; all that tree pose had finally paid off. Fritz seemed suitably impressed as he rubbed a thumb over her nipple. Optimistically stable in her balancing act, she slipped her free hand between their bodies to stroke herself, her fingers touching both her and him at the same time as he slid in and out.

“God damn, Captain,” he said. “That is so hot.”

“You do it,” she suggested wickedly. “I’m so close. And I must go first, you know."

"So I've heard," he said, giving her nipple one last pinch before sliding his hand down to where their bodies were slickly joined. She bit down on her bottom lip to stifle her moan.

"Fuck," she said. "Oh god, oh god, oh god."

"Good?" he asked, stroking her with growing confidence as she moved against him.

"So good," she said between heavy breaths. "That's it--oh-- _oh!_ "

Her whole body shuddered as he watched her face go slack. Her grip around him loosened, and he slipped his hands under her ass to set her on top of the desk, gently lowering her left leg from its clench against his ass and massaging her hip gently. He braced his hands in either side of her hips and resumed driving into her.

"There," he grunted. "You got to come first. Happy?"

She hummed a little blissfully in response, leaning back to give him deeper access and watching him through hooded eyes. Four or five thrusts later, he was emptying himself inside her with a groan, his climax hard and long.

She shook her head as he withdrew. "I haven't done this in...god, forever."

"Me either," he agreed, thinking of the time three years ago he and Brenda had done it in her old office at Parker Center after she'd had a particularly close brush with death.

Fuck. Brenda.

"You got any tissues?" he asked, looking around and trying not to think about his wife just yet.

She picked up her skirt and shirt from the chair before walking around to behind her desk, setting down her clothes next to the stack of files topped with her glasses and panties. She slid open a drawer and grabbed a handful of tissues for herself before handing him the box.

By the time he was done cleaning himself up, she was fully dressed.

“This can’t happen again,” she said. Glasses back on, armor in place. Iron-clad Captain Raydor.

He did up his pants and pulled his undershirt over his head.

“I’m kind of amazed that this happened at all,” he admitted, fastening his button-down and knotting his tie. “But yeah, I agree.” He shrugged back into his suit jacket.

She walked over to him, straightened his tie and gave him an enigmatic downcast smile. “Keep me updated about the lawyer situation, okay?”

He reached out and stroked her jaw, tipping her chin up to look at him. “I will.” It was a promise.

She broke away from his gaze to gather her shoes and put them back on. She walked him to the door and flipped on the lights, both of them blinking under the harsh fluorescent glare of reality.

Fritz flipped the deadbolt but stopped to reach into his wallet and retrieve the lawyer’s card, playing out the actions that had started this whole thing in reverse. He looked over the information it contained.

“Sharon...thanks.” He held the card up and slipped it back into his wallet, turning to leave.

She smiled. “Thank you...Fritz.”  
  



End file.
